


By Candlelight's Embrace

by mabariandmushrooms



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Blood and Injury, Denial of Feelings, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29805090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mabariandmushrooms/pseuds/mabariandmushrooms
Summary: Ros Hawke just can't help but be enamoured by Anders, and after an ambush that leads her wounded and in need of his help, she finds out that he feels the same way too, no matter how much he may try to convince himself otherwise.
Relationships: Anders/Female Hawke, Anders/Hawke (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	By Candlelight's Embrace

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline wise this is just before the in game kiss where Anders *finally* admits his feelings because i guess i wanted to add more smooching and denying feelings before that happens

When Ros called last orders at the Hanged Man, there were never many left to buy in their last drinks and pack themselves up to stumble home. It would usually just be that same crowd of lost souls who could barely stay on their stools, plus whoever it was out of her group of friends that had decided to escort her home that night. They always insisted on it. After all, the streets of Kirkwall were dangerous after dark.

On that night, it had been Varric and Anders. 

_What a treat._

Varric, she could live with. But Anders. _Anders_. Maker, his very presence taunted her, with those gentle brown eyes that glistened in the dying candlelight, and those tangled locks of golden blonde hair that were almost always tied back into a lazy ponytail.

Whenever she saw him, she was reminded of all of those times that she had made a fool of herself, those times when she had flirted with him, and he had rebuked her.

It was also a painful reminder that, in spite of how he continued to do so, she could just not seem to get him out of her mind.

It was always the same with him. She would flirt with him, and he with her, watching her with those brown eyes that burned with all the passion of a raging fire. Then he would retreat, back away, extinguish that fire before it even had the chance to burn, and it left her feeling cold and disheartened in its wake.

" _I would only hurt you_ ," was what he always said, and yet, here he was, offering to protect her.

He really was just one unending juxtaposition, and yet, for some reason, she just couldn't seem to get enough of it. Of _him_.

But on that night, at least, she was glad that he had been there. Because on that night, those who prowled the moonlit streets of Kirkwall chose them as their next prey.

The candles in his clinic burst into flame as he helped her through its doors, standing in the part of her vision that was blurred by drops of blood.

An elbow to the face as she'd tried to flank the ones who had ambushed them – that was what brought her stumbling into his clinic with his arm around her.

Not her proudest moment. Far from it, in fact.

Sometimes, she just wasn’t quick enough.

"Stay here," he ordered her, leaving her on a rickety bench as he went to rummage through his stores.

That left just her and Varric, who watched her carefully from a distance. 

"You can go if you want," she said to him as she blinked a speck of blood out of her eye. "I'll be fine."

He frowned up at her, his eyes roaming the searing cut on her brow and the swelling that was beginning to form along her cheekbone.

But he knew better than to argue with her.

"Alright, whatever," he shrugged at her. "But don't blame me if someone comes for your other eye."

She would have laughed, if it didn't hurt to do so.

Instead, she just winced her way through a smile until he turned and left, and she was left alone on that cold bench Anders’ clinic.

She could hear him rummaging in the room behind her, but she dared not turn to look. She dared not move at all, in fact. She could scarcely see out of her right eye, and everytime she moved her head, a jolt tore through her skull.

It was best to just sit, and wait, and think about the fact that she was alone, in Anders’ clinic, and how soon, they would be alone together.

That could only go badly. 

Perhaps it would be best if she just said nothing this time, just let him do his work. Then she wouldn’t be able to embarrass herself.

_Don’t do it, Ros. Don’t say anything stupid. He’ll only shoot you down again._

“Alright, Hawke,” she heard Anders announce, before he appeared within her field of vision and leant down to the level of her eyes. “Let me see it.”

She turned towards him, earning her a harsh reminder of the damage done to her face in a jolt of pain that caused her to curse.

But that was nothing compared to the searing pain that erupted on her right brow.

“Ow! What are you doing?” She cried, pulling herself away from those eyes that watched her so intently.

“I’m cleaning it,” he said with a sigh of frustration. “You have a deep cut on your brow, I don’t want it to become infected.”

“Can’t you just...magic it?” She asked him, as she shuffled back towards him with some reluctance.

“No, it doesn’t work like that,” he told her, before leaning and heaving a heavy sigh as he rubbed a hand at his temples. “Sorry, Hawke. I should have given you some elfroot for the pain.”

He reached down below her eye line, and produced a small bottle of green liquid that he passed carefully into her hands.

She drank it in one large gulp; it tasted like dirt, as it usually did. But Maker, the relief was almost instantaneous.

“Thanks,” she said to him with as much of smile as she could manage. “You know, I’d almost stopped noticing how much it hurt, anyway.”

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better, Hawke,” he told her with a smile and a shake of his head. “Sorry, it’s just that it’s late and–” 

He paused, biting his lip as he knelt back down in front of her and turned his attention back to her brow. 

She watched him with her unharmed eye, his eyes so focused upon his task, his lips ever so slightly parted as he frowned in concentration.

She realised then just how close he was to her.

“You’re not flustered, are you?” She asked then with a teasing smile, before she cursed herself internally.

_You’ve done it again, Ros._

He frowned at her for a moment, before discarding a cloth that was drenched with blood and turning his attention back to her brow.

Then she felt something flash across her skin. It was a pool of warmth that spread across her brow and into the crease above her eye, and in its wake, a soft blue glow illuminated the dark clinic and reflected off of his soft brown eyes.

“What was that?”

“A healing spell,” he said softly, as the blue glow faded and the flicker of candlelight returned to the clinic. “Just to stop the bleeding, then I’ll stitch it back together.”

She blinked up at him, with a right eye that was no longer filled with blood, and for a moment they were still.

Candlelight flickered, and breaths became wisps of cold smoke that danced in the space between them.

“Hawke,” it was Anders who broke the silence, speaking on the quietest of breaths as he inched closer to her. “Please don’t think that I don’t care for you.”

Her heart thundered at the centre of her chest and sent pulses of blood up into her cheeks, causing a strange throbbing in the one that was swollen and rapidly bruising.

“It’s just that...” he looked away for a moment, shaking his head as he reached down for more supplies. “Forget it.”

He rose himself up slightly, angling himself over her as he began to work on her brow.

“Tell me,” she said to him, as she winced at the strange feeling of a tugging at her skin.

It didn’t hurt, at least. Thank the Maker for his elfroot potion.

It was just...weird.

He sighed at her. “Keep still, or you’ll make it bleed again.”

She would have rolled her eyes, if she could.

“I know what you were going to say,” she said to him with a sigh of her own. “You were going to say that you’ll hurt me, because that’s what you always say.”

He stopped for a moment, pulling back slightly to meet her gaze.

Then he shook his head, and continued his work. “Because I will.”

“You aren’t now,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “In fact, you’re doing the exact opposite.”

He didn’t respond, and so the clinic fell into a heavy silence as he continued to work on her wound.

She watched him, but he didn’t watch her. He only had eyes for his work, for the fingers that threaded her skin back together with such care, until the strange tugging at her skin stopped, and she watched him turn away for a moment to discard his tools while a hand massaged at the roots of his golden blonde hair.

“I’ll just look at your cheek and then you can go,” he said almost to himself, as he turned back to her with a hardened look.

He brought himself level to her again, studying her with his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed.

A finger brought itself to her cheek, a gentle caress of soft hands that soothed the swelling skin with a flourish of warm magic.

“Anders,” she whispered into the night air, as a flicker of his brown eyes towards her told that he could hear her, but the way in which they soon abandoned her told her that he had no intention of listening.

_Stubborn bastard._

She brought her right hand up to meet his, finding those fingers that brushed against the skin of her cheek and enveloping them in her own.

He tensed, the spell in his fingers halting at her touch. “Hawke,”

“Anders,” she interjected curtly, before dropping her voice down to a whisper. “You’re a good man.”

“No, I’m–”

“Yes, you are,” she insisted as she looked up into those warm brown eyes. “You’re a good man, Anders. I mean, look at what you’ve done for me tonight.”

She refused to let go of his hand, lacing her fingers between his own as they rested against the swollen skin of her cheek.

“Why do you think you're going to hurt me, Anders?"

"Justice–"

"Has never hurt me," she hushed him with words as gentle as the breeze that trickled in through the entrance to the clinic. " _You_ have never hurt me."

"I could," he warned her with a sigh, as his gaze fell from her own.

"And yet, you haven't," 

She brought her free hand to his chin, encouraging him to bring his eyes level with her once again with a nudge of his jaw.

And he did, burning her with the fire in his eyes as he stared at her unmoving, unflinching, even as she brought that free hand and migrated her fingers along his jaw and up onto cheeks covered in a soft stubble.

His skin was soft to the touch, softer than she could have ever imagined.

And so were his lips, she found out. 

She always tried to stay one step ahead, to foresee what was to come. It was how she kept alive in battle, one step ahead, as her father had taught her.

But for the second time on that night, she had been taken aback, caught by surprise.

The first time had earnt her a vicious wound, the second, a kiss that she had dreamt of for far longer than she would ever care to admit.

With his lips locked on hers, he drew himself to full height, her head tilting back as she accepted the pressing of his lips against her own, drawing him in closer with a hand reaching to the back of his head.

As the candles flickered, their passions grew, deepening with every second, every breath against cold skin, every movement of their lips in that increasingly more intricate dance that they shared.

Then, it stopped. 

Anders retreated, slowly, steadily, his lips hovering only inches away from her own as they took one shared breath together into the depths of the night. 

"I'm sorry,"

"Hush, sweetheart," she whispered against the skin of his upper lip as she pressed another kiss at the place where his soft lips meant coarse stubble. "Don't be sorry."

She pulled away, bringing the thumb of her left hand to the place where her lips had once been, stroking the stubble of his shaven beard before finding those soft gentle lips.

Oh how good they had felt against her own. How good it had felt to kiss this man who had been so closed off, so frightened of what their feelings could mean, that every time they had let their feelings run away with them, he had retreated, withdrawn.

He was so afraid, so shaken by terror, that even now, after a kiss that was so passionate, so intense, his eyes were wide with fear, his mouth agape.

But it had been _him_ who had kissed her. _Him_. 

She would never forget that. She would never forget the intensity in which he had held her, caressed her, enveloped her lips within his own.

She would never forget.

"I should take you back," he said to her eventually, with words that were unsteady, broken by fear.

Fear, she imagined, at the feelings that had spurred him to do such a thing. 

In spite of his own warnings, his own protestations, _he_ had kissed _her_.

She nodded, slowly, reluctantly, as she followed his lead and left his clinic and walked with him through the now empty streets of Kirkwall.

He was afraid, and there was nothing she could do to remedy that except, well, leave.

Maker, did that hurt. But perhaps one day, he wouldn’t be.

Perhaps one day, that one kiss would become more. 

Together, they wound through a silent city with the moons watching their every step, and neither of them said a word.

Neither of them spoke about the clinic, the kiss, the undeniable truth that their hearts were drawing them together. 

Even when they reached the door of her estate, they didn't speak.

They looked at each other for a moment, the moonlight reflecting off of those gentle brown eyes.

And then, they said a silent goodbye, a brush of her finger against one of his as she brushed passed him to enter the door to her home.

They'd have to talk about it one day, she knew that, and she imagined that he did too. They'd have to talk about what happened, what was going to happen.

But for now, she stood in the front room of her home with a smile on her face, a smile that strained her rapidly bruising cheeks and pulled at Anders' careful stitching.

Her smile faltered. Maker, it was beginning to hurt again. Perhaps she should have asked for more elfroot before she had left, but then she'd been too busy kissing him instead. 

She smiled again, her cheeks burning both from the pain and from the memories of that stolen kiss.

 _Worth it_.


End file.
